If They Did Not Die
by PurpleMissAliceWhitlock
Summary: What if the barricade boys didn't die? What if Javert gave up and Valjean lived longer? After the barricade, Enjolras isn't well. His heart isn't functioning right and Grantaire is his lifeline. Combeferre begins to heal and fall in love with a fiesty little Eponine who struggles with the pain of the past. Together, the four have to power through pain and heal each other.


Dark. The world was dark. It had gone to sleep, leaving the pale dead untouched. No one had yet been brave enough to touch the corpses of those who gave their lives for a new world, one that never would seem to come.

Even the leader had appeared to have fallen. His blonde hair was in a mess, like the mane of a lion. His shirt was soaked through with blood and now matched his red was sprawled out against the red flag that was a symbol of the revolution, and the new world, even of the blood of the martyrs that now felt like it was everywhere.

The wavy haired brunette had fallen next to him. He too had been shot, but not even close to the eight times that Enjolras was. The chocolate haired male began to cough, and, with a groan, he blinked awake, having to shut his eyes occasionally as they adjusted to the light. Grantaire looked around for a bit. Slowly, his mind began to figure out where he was, and with a groan, his head began to pound. Grantaire's shoulder was throbbing and it got worse as he tried to stand up. He settled for sitting himself up, looking around. Grantaire's shirt now was covered in blood.

The first thing Grantaire saw was a few of the boys laying on the floor, they looked dead. He snapped his head around, "Enjolras!" His throat was dry and he felt dizzy. "Enjolras!" When Grantaire saw the body he sprinted to it, patting his cheek, "No, no, Enjolras wake up. You're the strongest, you're the leader here, you have to wake up."

He began to sob into the blonde's chest and stayed there for a long amount of time, one so long he didn't know that it had become day and then night again. He heard a groan and brought his head up. Enjolras was breathing, his chest rising and falling, his eyes trying to open.

When Enjolras finally pried his eyes open, it took him a moment to adjust to the light. He felt dizzy and exhausted. He wasn't sure where he was or who was on him. Enjolras weakly moved a hand to Grantaire's hand, trying to distinguish the person in front of him. "G-grantaire?"

The man in question snapped his head up. "Yes, yes Apollo it's me." He stroked Enjolras' face and sighed, "we have to get you out of here."

"Patria…"

"Can wait," Grantaire sat himself up, and slowly stumbled to his feet, his head spinning from the movement. He felt heavy. The drunkard used the wall to balance himself and soon was able to walk with a decent amount of stability. As he leaned down, though it wasn't painless to do so, he heard a weak cough.

The two men turned to see a sandy haired man with broken glasses throwing up. "Combeferre" Enjolras called as loudly as his body permitted.

Combeferre looked up and saw the man he called his brother. He tried to scramble over to him, not minding the hints of vomit on his own garments, but was very weak and barely made it. "Is, is anyone else still alive?"

Grantaire shook his head, "It doesn't appear so."

"Well, let's not fret now, let's worry about getting better and making sure they didn't die senseless deaths," said Combeferre.

Combeferre was a man of reason. As a child, he never believed in the fun stories his mother would try and tell him. He didn't find the pleasure that others did in reading fairy tales, because he always knew that they weren't real. Combeferre didn't ever seek fun in fairies or elves. He saw them as just stories, nothing more.

In school he was always the smartest rarely getting distracted and always keeping his goals in reach. The man was top of his class and also was studying medicine and philosophy. Combeferre was a man who knew how to put his emotions away, to shut feeling out. Shutting out unwanted emotion was something boy Combeferre and Enjolras did well.

They began to hear something from down stairs. The three men crouched together, fearing a guard might have come back to ensure that they had died, but no, there was no guard. A young man with a pleasant face and freckled peared upstairs after about ten minutes.

"Marius," Enjolras said, his voice was choked, but full of joy. At Least he hadn't led all his friends to death and perhaps there was hope yet.

The freckled man nearly leapt with joy, "Enjolras! Combeferre! Grantaire! You're all alive! I had feared the worst, especially when I had woken in my grandfather's home and none of you were there," he said.

"Yes Marius, we are delighted to see you, but we have more pressing matters than a reunion. Run as fast as your long legs can carry you and bring a doctor."

The young man thought for a moment and nodded, "I will. Do you know where the others had gone to? They aren't downstairs, only 'Ponine, her heart is still beating."

Grantaire raised an eyebrow, "I'll go to look, but for now, go."

The young man ran out of the room as Grantaire rolled his eyes. He sat back against the wall and sighed, swinging himself upwards so he could stand easily. "I'll go check on her."

Combeferre nodding, feeling useless. He couldn't help Enjolras get any better and his friends were missing.

When Grantaire got downstairs he saw the broken girl in the corners. She was beautiful, though there was dirt on her face and hay in her hair from somewhere she had been sleeping before the revolution. There were trousers on her thin frame and a shirt that was covered in blood.

He sighed fondly at her. Her name was Eponine, she was a Thenardier. The Thenardier's were known for being cons and thieves. As a child, her parents had been well off. They were not rich, but lived comfortably. When Eponine got older, they lost their money and lived on the streets. She was only a child of seven when she had been thrown on the streets.

The streets made Eponine tough. She had her fair share of pain and suffering, but had found comfort in loving Marius, but he didn't return her affection. Grantaire had been another shoulder for her to cry on. He understood the feeling of being a waste that no one cared about. He knew what it felt like to be unloved.

Grantaire had fallen in love with the marble statue who seemed to be unable to love. Unlike Combeferre, who did have a big heart that was merely well guarded, Enjolras didn't seem to feel. He only smiled when talking with Combeferre and his other close friend, Courfeyrac, or when the revolution was going on and he was calling to the people. Grantaire loved, not merely loved, he worshiped, Enjolras. To him, Enjolras was he sun and the moon. He was Apollo.

Grantaire kneeled in front of the all too thin girl and sighed, shaking her shoulder. Eponine awoke with a jolt, swinging on of her arms out, punching the air around her. "Aye! Are you trying to kill me," Grantaire groaned, huffing. Eponine smiled, but was the worst kind of pale. "C'mon girlie, Ferre and Enjolras are upstairs and waiting." He helped her up, her legs like noodles, and with one of her arms around his shoulders, the two struggled up the stairs, "look at us, broken again.

Combeferre's eyes snapped up when Grantaire re-entered the room, "How is she?"

Eponine smiled warmly at Combeferre, "I'm more concerned for you."

Grantaire set her down gently next to Combeferre. "I'm alive and that is a miracle."


End file.
